xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Yeah. Good Times.: Hey, Jill.... whatever happened to that cat?

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Hey, Jill.... whatever happened to that cat?

You know, the one that was in your garage with a broken leg?

Oh, YEAH! Thanks for asking, I'd forgotten about that cat; I bet you're wondering what happened to that little fucker? I mean, um.... yeah. That little fucker.

Background posts are here and here and here and I guess here. TL;DR (too long; didn't read): I have a feral cat, he broke his leg, he lived in my garage with a cast, he hated my fucking guts.

So, yeah, he was in the garage for a while, and we were going in there and giving him drugs twice a day. At first we had him locked in this enormous dog carrier inside the garage, but I thought that was cruel, and since the garage doors are all locked, I just let him out of the carrier and into the garage. I mean, the point was so that he wouldn't try to climb and jump on stuff while his leg was in the cast and he didn't need to be locked in a cell to accomplish that.

Yeah, that may not necessarily have been the best plan, though, because we still had to go in there and drug him twice a day, and if he's in the dog crate we just reach him and grab him, do our thing, and then cram him back in, right? But, loose in the garage, which has been converted into a man cave, complete with a bed, and a weight bench, and an entertainment system with a projector and a screen hooked up to a computer with all kinds of movies on it... it's pretty cool, actually. Anyway, all that stuff in there makes it really easy to hide when the humans come in with their grabby hands and torture devices. So, we had some difficulty getting him out from under the dresser or behind the wardrobe.

Hubs would always put on these industrial silicone bbq-ing gloves to protect his hands and arms from getting scratched to fucking hell. One night we had some extra, extra trouble finding the cat and if it wasn't for those gloves we probably would have ended up in the emergency room. Or with a dead cat. It was like he was the devil in cat form; hissing and clawing and yowling, it was actually kind of scary. After that day, hubs vowed never to go near the fucking thing ever again, so we just shut the door and stopped giving him medicine; we kept feeding him, of course, and checking on him every day (or, um... most days).


-FUNNY STORY INTERLUDE-

About a week later, I was drunk and went in there and actually found the cat, and apparently I picked him up and fed him and gave him a pill and I was all "Oh, I love this cat SOOOO much." I have absolutely no memory of this. Hubs just recounted that tale and said it was exactly like that scene in the Hangover where the guys steal Mike Tyson's tiger and casually lead him out of the mansion on a leash, and then wake up the next day and are VERY surprised to find a tiger in their hotel room. Drunken bravado, he called it. I'm still dubious it actually happened.

-END OF FUNNY STORY INTERLUDE-


So, the cat got his medicine for about 3 weeks out of the 5 that he was supposed to get it, but I could tell he was feeling better because he started getting louder and louder and louder. He would stand at the door and shred the shit out of the carpet, apparently trying to tunnel his way to freedom, and the louder he got the more I knew he was feeling better. Then one day I went in there and his cast wasn't on anymore. It was just fucking gone. So, fuck it, I let him out. I figured that would make him happy, not being all cooped up in the man cave and screaming, right? But, no. For about a week he would stand in the kitchen and scream and yell, instead. That wasn't much better. I considered putting him back in the garage.

But, his leg seemed okay, he had a little limp but otherwise he seemed fine. Now it's about 2 months later and he's completely healed. The moral of the story: It only takes 3 weeks for a cat to heal from a broken leg, not the 5 weeks the vet tells you. Okay, perhaps there's a different moral to this story, but that's the one I'm going to go with right now.

Anyway, what inspired me to write this just now is that I'm starting to pack for our trip and I dragged the big suitcase out of the garage and LOOK what I found inside! Can you guess what that weird red thing is? Yep, that's a cat cast. Nice hiding, McDougal! I never would have found it there.




13 comments:

Big Daddy Autism said...

Wow. This story is disturbing. It sounds like your husband has a much nicer mancave than me. Except, of course for the possessed cat. I do not like it when people have nicer stuff than me. Oh, and why on earth would help a feral cat? Racoons. Feral Cats. Berekely. Sheesh.

This side of Typical said...

I thought the whole idea of a feral cat was that they survived on their own. he can't even administer his own medicine? Pussy.

jillsmo said...

He wasn't always feral, he was actually born in my closet. This is more of a lifestyle choice.

Not Just Another Mother Blogger! said...

I actually thought of you the other day, when the feral cat who lives in our back yard got into it with a possum. I have no clue as to how I was going to get that cat into a cage to even get to the vet. But I've been watching Lalo to see if the bite has gotten infected, and as of today, it looks like he's healed completely. Thank goodness!

ryoko861 said...

Feral cats are scary! You were so nice to help him despite his ungracious actions towards you. I had two feral cats once. The mother was a real nasty one, so we didn't bother trying to domesticate her...she ran away anyway. We kept two, one died of a heart problem, the other was just starting to come around until we moved and he ran away also. My son said he thinks he saw him a couple towns away at the McDonalds. He looked like Morris the Cat, orange tabby and big. Or Garfield. I hope he's happy.

JennieB said...

Giving medicine to animals is the worst. Our dog shakes like we're about to waterboard her when we put Advantix drops on her. Then she pouts about it all night.

Lori Stefanac (Lola) said...

Great story! I'm not much of a cat person. I had a cat when I was single, but it hid all day long and hated everyone. I fed her, changed her litter box, and...well, that's it. I got nothing back. Her name was Harley, nicknamed "where's that fucking cat?". Now we have 4 HUGE cats who live outside in our backyard despite belonging to someone else. These cats are the fattest things I've ever seen! Not pregnant though (unless cats stay pregnant for 2 years at a time?) They are just keeping fat on all of the mice in our woods.,.although who knows how they catch them being so morbidly obese. Anyhow, they are fat and happy, I am mouseless. Symbiosis.

Tim@sogeshirts said...

Very cool of you to take care of a feral cat and do the best you could with it. Sorry that it doesn't appreciate your kindness. Interesting that a cat's broken leg could heal that fast. Don't blame your husband for not wanting to get scratched. That is no fun at all.

tsonodablog said...

Cats are arrogant, unforgiving, moody, selfish and ill-spirited bitches. All qualities I admire in myself. Cats are cool.

Terri

jillsmo said...

LOL Terri!

Jessica said...

Ugh, I hate cats. So nice of you to take care of him. I think the cast in the suitcase was his way of saying he is coming with you like it or not.

Lynn said...

Oh that is the best photo. I would have said turnip, had I seen it without reading the preceding story.

Thank, Q said...

A possessed cat in a man cave? Scary stuff. I would have been scared he would destroy stuff. You all are good people because I would have been taking that cat to the house of the first person who wanted one.

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